


You're Going To Reap Just What You Sow

by orphan_account



Series: In My Veins [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, I’m sorry, I was about to do something without your enthusiastically expressed consent, how terrible of me Derek.”<br/>He barks a harsh laugh before stabbing the needle into the skin of Derek’s neck, free hand is stoking at his cheek as he presses the plunger down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Going To Reap Just What You Sow

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Lou Reed's Perfect Day.  
> Unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are my own.  
> Can be read on it's own, though it will probably make more sense if you read the first part.

He wakes, on a chair that’s bolted to the floor, hands tied behind his back. From the angle his head is lolling at and the way his neck aches he’s pretty sure it’s been snapped. A quick scan through the last few things he remembers reveal that that is indeed what happened. He groans and lifts his head to see that he’s not alone in the room. There’s a guy lounging by the wall, a hunter, well, a human, but it’s pretty much a given that he’d part of the resistance, they all are, it’s a birth right.

 “Derek Hale.”

 The guy is smiling at him but he doesn’t recognise him, can’t work out what he’s doing here, why they brought him here, tied him up, why they didn’t just kill him.

 “It took us a while to find you, we put a lot of time and effort into it. Not that I care of course, I’d have just left you for dead, but it was a favour for a friend you see. I hope you’re worth it. I’ll tell him you’re awake.”

 The guy smirks at him before leaving. The door slams behind him and Derek’s alone in the room for a few long minuets, until the door opens again, and he’s not.

 Stiles couldn’t look any less like the man Derek remembers. He’s no longer this gaunt, fragile thing. No longer the man Derek tried to convince himself he was helping. His body, which used to be all pale skin and sharp angles, is filled out, tanned. His hair is shorter. His eyes are wrong. Obviously, they’re not glazed and unfocused like Derek remembers them, but they’re also not the honey warm orbs he saw that one time, the eyes that scared him so much he had to make them go away. There’s something dark behind them now, something even more terrifying. He is walking towards him slowly, with purpose, circling the chair he’s tied to, not taking his eyes off him.

 “I can’t believe it’s you.”

 He says after a while, his voice is firmer too, unfamiliar, cold. He’s standing behind Derek now and suddenly there’s a hand in his hair, tugging his head to the side, baring his neck. Stiles is running thin fingers up his throat, over his pulse point. Derek sees the gleam of a needle out of the corner of his eye his stomach drops when he realises that Stiles’ looking for a vein.

 “Stiles, don’t!”

 His voice is more of a whimper than anything, mind trying to catch up with this new set of circumstances, trying to consolidate the boy from before with the man behind him now.  Stiles lets go, walks around to face him, frowning slightly. He rests a hand on Derek’s shoulder and climbs on top of him, straddling his lap. He holds the syringe in front of Derek’s face with a small pout.

 “Oh, I’m sorry, I was about to do something without your enthusiastically expressed consent, how terrible of me Derek.”

 He barks a harsh laugh before stabbing the needle into the skin of Derek’s neck, free hand is stoking at his cheek as he presses the plunger down.

 “It will make you feel good.”

 He can feel bile rising in his throat as Stiles throws his own words back at him, but there’s something else. It’s like there’s a fire in his veins, but instead of setting him ablaze it’s burning through his nerve endings, making everything feel less connected than it should. His whole body feels heavy, his head is swimming. Stiles is right. It does feel good.

 It takes him a while to realise that Stiles is moving above him, talking, though Derek can’t hear him properly, feels like he’s underwater. Stiles’ hand is moving against him, cupping him through the material of his pants, and he can’t work out if he should feel disgusted that he’s growing hard at the touch. This is Stiles after all, this is his beautiful boy, the boy he thought he’d do anything for, this doesn’t feel as wrong as it should.

 Stiles is moving his hand more frantically, leaning his head against Derek’s chest, saying things that Derek only catches bits of.

 “They want you dead, though they said I could be the one to do it.”

 “Fuck, I can’t believe how into this you are.”

 “They think this is to do with revenge. I’m not so sure, maybe it’s just because I miss you.”

 At some point Stiles pulls his zipper down, pushing his pants down passed his thighs (it makes perfect sense to Derek to lift his hips to help him), wrapping his fingers around his cock and jerking him slowly. He thinks Stiles is mouthing at the skin of his neck, where the needle went in, thinks that he too is hard, straining against his jeans, but he can’t be sure, can’t be sure of anything really apart from the hand on him, the inevitability of his climax.

 When he comes he doesn’t know if Stiles has been doing this for hours or mere minuets. All he knows is that he cries out Stiles’ name when he tenses, something he hasn’t done for months, or at least done with Stiles actually there.  He’s so lost in the sensation, whatever the hell it is pumping through his veins, his orgasm. He wonders if this was what Stiles felt like all the time, wonders if that is a bad thing. 

 There’s a hand moving up his neck, hips rolling frantically into his thigh, fingers dipping into his mouth. He laps hungrily at them, tasting himself and Stiles together. Stiles is talking again, it seems clearer this time. And his voice isn’t that cocky drawl he had when he came in; it’s quieter, more like the Stiles he remembers.

 “It should have been you.”

 He’s saying.

 “It should have been you. You promise you’d get me out of there; you promised you’d make things better. I wanted it to be you. But it wasn’t you, it was them, and they ruined everything. It’s your fault, why would do that? Why?”

 Stiles shudders against him on the last few words, falling heavily against his chest, not seeming to care that he’s just come in his pants. He climbs off Derek, tucks him back in his jeans, turns his back, walks to the corner of the room for something.

 When he comes back Derek can’t see what it is he’s holding, he’s too lost in the drugs and the afterglow. But he can see Stiles shifting, weighing it in his hands, looking down at it like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

 “I told you they wanted to kill you.”

 He says quietly, hefting the thing up into his right hand.

 “I’m sorry if this doesn’t work.”

 And then,

 “Play dead.”

 Something hard and cold and heavy collides with the side of his head. He thinks he hears a small whimper, thinks he feels lips pressed against his for a fraction of a second, but he can’t be sure, because it doesn’t take long for everything to turn black.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I'm 100% happy with this.  
> Was really not expecting to be updating this as quickly. Blame (thank?) my hangover. This is no way a precedent for update speed.  
> Also playing 'Harri writes sex scenes with as little sex as possible'.


End file.
